


The Bullet Through The Heart

by Rosie_Sherlock_Watson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Gen, John Being an Idiot, M/M, Multi, Other, Series 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:22:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Sherlock_Watson/pseuds/Rosie_Sherlock_Watson
Summary: Just a little glimpse into John's head while Sherlock was having surgery in HLVUPDATE: So people asked for more so I'm giving it to them. Idk how long this is gonna be but I'm updating the description so it's now basically John's thoughts and POV during HLV starting from after Sherlock's shooting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! So this is pretty short but it actually took like 2 days to write. Hope you guys like it :):):):)

John couldn't breathe.

He felt like it was him, not Sherlock, in the OR getting a bullet pulled from his body. He felt like it was him, not Sherlock, who had flatlined 5 minutes earlier in the middle of surgery. He felt like it was him, not Sherlock, who had a hole torn through his chest.

Now John was  _pissed_.

When he found out who did this he was going to take great pleasure in wrapping his hands around their neck and squeezing the life out of them. The almost killed Sherlock. No, they  _did_ kill Sherlock. The doctor had come out with the words perched on his lips, ready to fly free and stab John repeatedly in his heart and his stomach, when Sherlock's heart had started beating again and they called him back. John had promptly left the waiting room, walked into the bathroom, and vomited until he head hurt and his entire face was slick with sweat. 

Yes, he would take _great_ pleasure in killing whoever had done this. 

Now he was back sitting in the waiting room, bent over, forearms resting his on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. All he could think about was walking into that room and seeing Sherlock-  _his Sherlock_ \- lying on the floor, blood spreading across his chest at an alarming rate and dying his ridiculously posh shirt crimson red. The image suddenly flipped and Sherlock was lying on concrete instead of hardwood. The blood was no longer on his chest but on his face and in his hair. Faintly John heard some other poor soul in the waiting room make some god awful noise that sounded desperate and animalistic, as if it came from the darkest depths of that person's heart. It wasn't until a small mousy pathologist shook him that he realised the noise was coming from him. 

"John! John you've got to stop that now. He'll be alright. Sherlock's too stubborn to die."  _And he wouldn't do that to you again_ is what Molly doesn't say.

John lifts his head, and it takes a minute for Molly's face to come in to focus. He must have been squeezing them shut. Greg was next to her, hand on her shoulder, looking as though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to cry for John or assist him in murdering the person who had caused all of this. He sits up in his chair and rubs his hands along his face. He hasn't slept since Sherlock was taken in. 

"Yeah. Yeah you're right. I'm sorry, I just...Sherlock can't. Bloody bastard can't do this sort of of shit again." John's voice sounded rough and hard even to his own ears, but only Molly and Greg heard the note of panic and denial hidden there. 

The doctor, John struggled to remember his name, only knowing his face because he was the one who was going to bring John's world crashing around his ears, walked into the room. Every cell in John's body went on high alert, his blood practically vibrating. Subconsciously he was aware that he had stood, that his hands had found their way into fists and that he looked ready to bolt. Either to Sherlock or from his body, he wasn't sure. 

"He's made it through. They're taking him to a private room now, but he won't be having any visitors for awhile. You should go home and get some rest." He smiled and walked back the way he came. Molly let out a nervous, joyful chuckle and Greg wrapped her in his arms. Sherlock was okay. 

_Sherlock was okay._

John let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. 

A nurse came and led them to a different waiting room, one with plush red seats and a television and proper magazines. _This is waiting room you're in when the worst has passed._ John felt the prickle of tears sting his eyes, but he beat them back with a litany of  _Sherlock is alive Sherlock is breathing Sherlock is okay Sherlock is sa-_

No. Sherlock was not safe. He wasn't going to be safe until John found the killer. And he was  _going_ to find the killer.

John wasn't sure how long they were in there before Mycroft came in. The fact that the presence of the oldest Holmes brother did not set John on edge was a testament to how out of sorts John was.

"How is my brother, Dr. Watson?" His voice was calm and collected, same as it always was. John was prepared to smash is unfeeling skull into the linoleum floor when he looked up and saw Mycroft's face. He seemed unaffected at first glance, but there was fear in his eyes. John was by no means as smart as either Sherlock or Mycroft but he was not blind. He was in the army for god's sake, he knows how to read a room and a body, living or dead. John had debated whether Mycroft's concern had been out of familial obligation or if he actually cared. The answer was clear on Mycroft's face. 

"He's made it through surgery. They said he'll be fine. He uh...he probably needs rest." John's Doctor Brain was at war with his Friend Brain. He told himself Sherlock was alright, but all he could see was Sherlock covered in blood. Lying on wood, lying on pavement. Mycroft flicked his eyes all over John's form, no doubting seeing things about the man that John didn't even know himself. His face softened and he nodded, giving a small awkward smile that John thought was meant to be reassuring. He turned to the DI in search of information and pictures of the Magnussen's office. 

At some point Mycroft left. Molly and Greg slipped off too, and soon John was alone staring at the wall and running the scene in Magnussen's office through his head one last time.

_Going to the office. Sherlock explaining his reckless and brilliant plan. Seeing Sherlock propose to Ja-_

No. John didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to remember how his stomach jumped into his throat and burning coals took it's place.

 

 _"_ _Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me? What happened?"_

_"He got shot."_

_"Jesus. Sherlock! Oh my...Who shot him?!"_

 

John was so ready to murder Magnussen right there. Regardless if he was one who pulled the trigger. He was there. This was his fault. All of this was. 

John might still kill him anyway.

Lestrade would help him. John was already 95% sure he knew about the cabbie. They had an understanding when it came to Sherlock's life. The whole of NSY knew John would do anything to protect Sherlock. He thought about the ambulance ride. How it seemed to last the entire 2 years John had spent thinking this man was dead. He thought about how many times they've both had to fight EMTs to let them ride inside. Sherlock's rapid fire stream of insulting deductions and John's calm and steady voice quietly threatening to break every bone in their bodies. There must have been something in John's face this time though. They let him ride without a single word. 

 

_"Sherlock? We're losing you. Sherlock!"_

 

John's own voice echoed through his head. He heard the fear and could easily translate it into every single word he hadn't said since Sherlock came walking back into his life.  _You bloody stupid, reckless, arrogant sod. You can't do this to me again not again never again. You can never die Sherlock Holmes. You can never leave me here. ~~I bloody love you, you idiot.~~_

"Mr. Watson?" John's head snapped up at the sound of his name. In front of him was a young nurse. She was short with shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes, and freckles. At another time, when his best friend wasn't laying in a hospital bed and there wasn't a ring on his left hand, he would have most definitely flirted with her. But as it was, he was married and his best friend had a hole in his chest. 

"Doctor. It's Dr. Watson."

"Right. Dr. Watson, you can see your friend now. He's still unconscious but you can see him."

John tried to manage a small smile of thanks but really he just trudged to Sherlock's room. He was terrified, he realised. He didn't want to see Sherlock hooked up to machines. He didn't want any of this to be real. He didn't want the last 3 years to be real. He stopped outside Sherlock's door and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. They were back at Baker Street. Sitting too close on the sofa, eating Chinese, and arguing about why Sherlock must ruin the ending to every perfectly good movie John attempts to watch on the telly.

John opened the door and walked in. His heart broke for the man lying in bed, because of the man lying in bed.  _Sherlock is alive Sherlock is alive Sherlock is alive ~~I love you.~~_

 

Sherlock was in bed, finally sleeping for once in his life, with a breathing tube in his nose. Machines stood around him, beeping, reassuring John that Sherlock's heart was in fact breathing. There was a chair in the corner of the room. John grabbed it and pulled it up right beside the bed. Absentmindedly, he thought about how he should call Greg and Molly, tell them that Sherlock can have visitors. But the doctor in him knew that no one was really allowed to see surgery patients so soon afterward. Mycroft did this. Of course he did. Insufferable git did everything. He'd really have to thank him one of these days. 

~~_Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock_ ~~ _I should call Mary._

John wasn't sure how long he sat there staring at this impossibly beautiful man, studying his every feature as he had been doing for years. He had almost lost Sherlock again. For real this time. He knew he wouldn't survive losing Sherlock twice. He still had nightmares about that day. He often found himself touching Sherlock unnecessarily to check that he was still there. That he wasn't a hallucination, like he had been for two years. 

John tried very hard not to think about when he saw Sherlock at the restaurant, how he fought with everything in him to reconcile the image of two Sherlocks standing before him. One who had a drawn on mustache and had been talking in a ridiculous french accent, and one who had looked the same as he did everyday since the morning after his suicide, who had been looking at John with hurt, disappointment, and betrayal in his eyes. Mary never looked at that one, no one did. However Mary was looking at Mustache Sherlock and that is what rocked John's foundation like a C4 explosion. That Sherlock was real. 

A throat cleared in the doorway, and John looked up to see Mycroft standing there with an unreadable expression on his face. John wasn't sure when he had reached up and took Sherlock's hand in his, but he pulled it away at the sight of his brother. 

"Sherlock's always been rather difficult to get rid of. You can imagine how he used to follow me around. Not matter how cross I became with him." Mycroft's gaze softened as he looked at his younger brother. "I shouldn't have been so cross with him." he continued quietly, as though he wasn't aware he had said that bit out loud. 

John looked back at Sherlock. "Do you know who did this?" his voice was cold steel, his insides were molten lava. 

"I'm afraid not. But I assure you, I'm doing what I can to find out. Magnussen's legal people are giving us the run around for the security footage, but we'll get it. And they'll be aptly punished."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" 

"Dr. Watson-"

"No. He was shot. He died. And by some miracle he managed to start breathing again. I do not care how many favours we have to do for you. When you find out who did this, you tell me, and then you make it go away."

"Make what, exactly, go away, John?"

"Whatever it is they are going to charge me with when I'm done."

Mycroft had no response to that. John took his silence as agreement and took Sherlock's hand again. With a declaration like that, he knew there was no point in hiding anymore. He doubted he had ever fooled Mycroft anyway. 

"I'll never understand you, Dr. Watson. You kill for him, you move in with him, you put up with him, you marry another and then do not make a single move to tell her where you've been all night; opting instead to wallow in worry in an A&E for my brother."

"Your point?" John tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand.

"Why did you never tell him that you love him?"

John paused. It wasn't as though the thought had never occurred to him. Many times he found himself questioning what he was doing with Mary. Finding out Sherlock had left his wedding early was like a bullet to the heart. The month afterward was like the resulting infection. He had long since accepted that he needed Sherlock the way Sherlock needed cases. The way normal people needed air. He would wake up in bed, beside Mary, from dreams of Sherlock and late night London cab chases wondering why he had gone through with it. He loved Mary, he truly did. And like Sherlock, she had come at a point in his life when he was questioning living at all. But then Sherlock came back, and underneath all the rage and hurt he was so unbelievably happy. When he had grabbed Sherlock in the restaurant he wasn't sure if he was going to kiss Sherlock or kill him.  

"Sherlock doesn't feel things that way. Never has."

"What proof do you have of this?"

 

 _"_ _John, um...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered I'm really not looking for any-"_

 

"He got engaged to break into an office, Mycroft. When I tried to explain why that was a bit not good, that Janine loved him, he said 'human error'. He doesn't love anything. Except maybe murder." John really didn't want to be having this conversation at all, let alone with Mycroft of all people. 

"John, when we first met I told you that bravery was by far the kindest word for stupidity. I implore you, Dr. Watson, be stupid now." With that, Mycroft left the room, his umbrella clacking on the floor as he goes.

He absolutely hated it when Mycroft was right, which, unfortunately, was always. It didn't matter now. As smart as Mycroft was, why didn't he see that it didn't matter anymore? He had married Mary and they had a child on the way. What did Mycroft expect? That John would leave Mary, confess his love, and Sherlock would somehow magically be to access his ability to love? That he'd welcome John and a  _baby_ into his flat without blinking? Sherlock could barely handle interaction with a fully grown human, let alone a new one. No. John knew exactly what would happen. Sherlock would parrot his words from 6 years ago and think nothing of it, leaving John mortified, crushed, wifeless, and very possibly childless. John wouldn't risk losing his child. He can't risk losing his entire life over Sherlock, even his life hasn't really been his own since the day they met. 

Sherlock's hand twitched in John's. He pulled his hand away slowly, ~~_so Sherlock wouldn't know_~~ __as to not disturb Sherlock as he woke up. His eyes fluttered open and stared, unseeing, at the ceiling.

John let out a choked breath that sounded entirely too much like a sob. "Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?" John ignored the embarrassing amount of relief in his voice, thankful that Sherlock was in no state to take note of it anyway.

Sherlock reached out and John gave him his hand, holding on with everything he had.  ~~ _I love you I love you I love you I love you._~~

Sherlock squeezed his hand. "Mary." His voice was rough but still impossibly deep. He slipped back into sleep under the haze of pain medication. 

John sat there dumbfounded for a minute. He had no idea what Sherlock meant, but he agreed with him. Mary.

_What the bloody hell am I going to do about Mary?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John during Mary's and Janine's visit with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I've gotten requests to continue with this fic. I originally intended for it to be an angst one-off so I don't know how bad it's going to be, but I've never been the best at saying no and honestly John, my John, started freaking out about Mary in my head today so I figured that was a sign that he was ready to be written again. Let's do this.

_What the bloody hell am I going to do about Mary?_

 

~~~

 

It could have been minutes later or it could have been hours later, John will probably never know for sure, but eventually he finds himself back in the waiting room. In reality it was really only seconds later because while half of his brain, the half that had finally allowed itself to acknowledge exactly how deep his attachment to Sherlock went, the other half, the half was military trained, had pressed the call button for the nurse. He must have said something along the lines of 'he's awake' because then he was being pushed put of the room and into the corridor outside the waiting room while doctors and nurses filed in, checking the machines and flipping through his chart as though they hadn't really expected him to wake up again, even though they had said he was okay.  _No, doctor, they did not say he was okay. They said you could see him._  

John decided that the reason the voice in his head sounded like Mycroft had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation they had 5 minutes- _has it really only been 5 minutes-_ ago. 

 _Mary._ Sherlock had woken up and said  _Mary._ For the first time John understood Sherlock's frustration with minds of, in Sherlock's opinion, average intelligence. He didn't understand what it meant. There were people who claimed to see things after they've been resuscitated, brought back from the dead  ~~ _Sherlock died Sherlock died Sherlock died again **oh god**_~~. So had he seen Mary? No, why would he have seen her? People claimed to see relatives or pets or things they loved and Mary doesn't qualify as any of those things. Sherlock's always been fond of Mary, sure. They get on, but does he care enough to see her after dy- _no-_ after losing consciousness? If he was to see anyone it would probably be  _ ~~me please me~~_ ~~~~Mrs. Hudson. Maybe his parents. He saw Sherlock bustle them out of the flat much the same way he's done Mrs. Hudson, so John's inclined to believe that he cares about her on nearly, if not entirely, the same level as his parents. He certainly doesn't see her as a pet. John's not even sure Sherlock understands the purpose of a pet. John tries to think of Sherlock with one and all he sees is ~~ _me even Moriarty sa_~~ _-_ ~~no stop it~~ Sherlock's indifference to little Kirsty's plea to find Bluebell until it suited the needs of the Baskerville case. _Mary._ It didn't make since.  _Mary._

_Mary._

Mary was coming up the steps.

"Mary."

"Hey." She said, slightly out of breathe, as though she had rushed to get here.  _Of course she did, she likes Sherlock. They're friends._ The thought unsettled John, but right now he was just relieved to see his  _ ~~consolation~~  _ ~~ _wife_~~ someone else who cared about Sherlock.

"He's only bloody woken up. He's pulled through." John hears the giddy relief in his voice that is just slightly too much for a best friend and hopes Mary doesn't notice.

"Really? Seriously?" She sounds surprised but relieved. That is relief he hears, isn't it?

"Yeah, you...Mrs. Watson. You're in big trouble."  _Make light of it so it's not strange when you ask about it later._

"Really, why?" She sounds normal, she's looks happy, there's nothing wrong here.  _Why are you searching for something wrong?_

"His first word when he woke up?" She shakes her head, confused and  ~~ _anxious_~~ curious.

"Mary." She huffs out a laugh and hugs him and he lets out a relieved giggle of his own, holding her to him.  _Completely normal, you're just worried. You just love Sherlock ~~as a friend~~ so muc ~~~~h you went a little crazy. This is Mary._

The short blonde nurse-  _I should really learn her name_ -comes back out and catches John's eye over Mary's shoulder. She smiles and nods and John understand what she means. 

"Do you want to see him?"

"Yeah, yes definitely. Uh- which room?" 

"It's just this way." He steps in the direction of  ~~ _Sherlock_~~ Sherlock's room when he hears Greg call his name from the lobby below. 

"John! Wait a sec, I'll be right there." He says as he starts toward the staircase. Greg has showered, shaved, and slept, judging by the slightly less dark circles on under his eyes. 

John turns back to Mary and glances toward Sherlock's room. He wants to see him again. "Room 303." He tells her and turns back around to face the DI, who's just reached him.

"Now, I know this isn't the best time but I need a statement for the report. Are you up for it?" He looks wary, worried as if John might break if asked to recount the details of the shooting. John wishes he could be angry with him, but he knows that Greg is the only one who knows just how bad John got after The Fall. He's the one that took him home when he could barely get off the bar stool, the one who picked him up from some random flat in a shite part of London after a blurry one night stand with yet another tall, pale, curly haired bloke, the one he called after waking up puffy eyed on Sherlock's grave. He's the one who rushed to the cemetery when one of those calls took place at 3 a.m. on the anniversary of Sherlock's death.

 

_"Hello?"_

_"It's been a year. He's not coming back, is he Greg?"_

_"John? Christ, do you know what time it is?"_

_"Sherlock Holmes is known to be indestructible. That's what the papers said, anyway. They also say he's dead. Which one am I supposed to believe, again?"_

_"John, I'm getting dressed. I'm coming to get you. Don't go anywhere, don't do something stupid."_

_"I told the git he wasn't allowed to go where I can't follow. He can't protect himself nearly as well as he thinks he does."_

_"I'm in the car. I'm almost there. Don't be an idiot."_

_"Practically everyone is."_

_"John!"_

 

The sense memory of being tackled and having his gun ripped out of his hand brings him back to the present. He wishes he could be angry with Greg and his caution, but he understands too well where it comes from. He can't even use 'I was drunk' as an excuse for that one. That's probably the worst thing about the whole two year situation. The most destructive thing he did was done while completely sober. "Yeah. We can do it now. Mary's visiting Sherlock right now anyways." They head into the waiting room and sit down, John leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs while Greg pulls out a pen and notebook. 

"Alright. Just take me straight through it, yeah?"

"Right. Sherlock texted me to meet him at Magnussen's office and when I got there he started telling me about the security."

"Why?"

"Making chit-chat?"

"Is that code for breaking in?"

"If I say yes will you put that in the report?"

"No."

"Then yes."

Greg sighed and put his pen down. "Exactly how much code will you be talking in?"

"Not very much, but you might want to wait until I'm finished." John could hear the amusement in his voice and tried to keep the smile off he face. Sherlock was constantly breaking the law, but overall the good he did outweighed the bad, so Lestrade always let them slide. As much as he could, anyway. John honestly believed that if Anderson and Donovan hadn't insisted they go to the Chief Superintendent, things never would have gotten as far as they had.  ~~ _Sherlock wouldn't have jumped_~~ It wouldn't have taken so long to clear Sherlock's name.

Greg chuckled and completely set aside his pen and pad."Okay, give me."

"We meet at the office and he starts breaking down the security, where Magnussen's office is, and how the key card system worked."

"Key card system?"

"Yeah, the security was pretty tight there. Only Magnussen's key card could activate the lift to get to his office. Sherlock didn't have it, but he nicked a standard one from someone, somewhere. I didn't ask."

"But if he didn't have the right one, how did he get in?"

"He corrupted the magnetic strip on the card."

"Sorry?"

"If he had used the standard card, the alarms would have gone off and he'd have been dragged away by security."

"Probably taken somewhere, gotten the piss kicked out of him." He chuckles and shakes his head, and I can't help but laugh with him.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I said. But you're right and Sherlock already knew that, but he figured if he corrupted it then it would read as  _corrupted_ instead of wrong. Security wouldn't risk dragging away Magnesussen, would they?"

"No, s'pose not. But then how do they ID him?'

"There's a camera at eye level above the card scanner. It sends a live video of the card user to the people working in Magnussen's office. They ID him. At the time we were there, the only one likely to be in would be his PA."

"Right, well, Sherlock doesn't exactly look like Magnussen."

"Again," I snickered. "That's what I said. And this is where Sherlock is a bit more...Sherlock."

"God, what does that mean?" His voice is laughing but he actually looks somewhat afraid.

"It means Sherlock's had a girlfriend for that past couple of weeks." John remembers it too well. The horrible awkward feeling of Janine coming out of Sherlock's bedroom in one his shirts. The unsettled feeling he'd gotten when  _she_ told  _him_ where the coffee was in his own flat  ~~ _not your flat anymore you married Mary you love her you're happy_~~ , like the ground had shifted beneath him. The queasy feeling when he'd actually flirted with her, touched her,  _kissed her_. The embarrassment at being completely shell shocked repeating the word 'dinner' over and over in his head and out loud while Sherlock tried to explain exactly who Magnussen was. He imagined his expression was much like the one on Greg's face currently.

"Sherlock? With a girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"With a girlfriend?"

"Yes, Greg. Sherlock with a girlfriend. Believe me I know, let me finish."

"Right. Sorry, just..." He trailed off. Looking at John, then the floor, then John again. "I always thought he was...well honestly I don't know what I thought he was but I definitely never pictured him with a  _girlfriend_. Or really anyone who wasn't..." He stopped again and looked back at the floor. This was usually the part where John insisted that he wasn't gay and that it wasn't like that, never has been never will be.  _Now,_ John thinks,  _only half of that statement is only half true._ He could keep the lie going. He could deny it again. Instead he looks at Greg, remembers how the barrel of his Sig feels against his temple and how Greg is about 10 times stronger than he looks, and decides there is no point to lying to him anymore. 

"I know." John says, and Greg whips his head up to look at him with wide eyes. They soften, and John sees something uncomfortably close to pity in them. "Anyway, girlfriend. A friend of Mary's. Her name is Janine. And Janine just happens to be Magnussen's PA."

"No."

"Yes."

"Did he really date her just to get to her boss?"

"You sound like a girl in Year 11."

"Can you blame me?!" John thought about this for a moment. 

"No. So, Sherlock scans the card and, I had no idea yet that Janine was the PA, but she answered and Sherlock asked to come up. Janine's a good person, honest. So of course she says no, she can't. Sherlock, the complete dickhead, pulls out a ring and proposes to her." His throat feels thick and his stomach drops like a 15 ton stone in water as the images of Sherlock holding a ring to the camera flashes before him. He had never wanted to throw up more in his life. Wanted to scream and stomp his feet like a 4 year old yelling 'Mine! Mine! Mine!'

" _Christ."_

John nods and opens his mouth to continue with Mary walks in. "Sherlock's sleeping. I'm going to head home, I've got a shift in thirty. Call you later?" She nods a hello to Greg and looks back at John.

"Uh yeah, sure." She kisses him on the cheek, John does his best not to freeze, and then she's gone. He looks at Greg, who's looking back and for between Mary's shrinking form and John. He opens his mouth to speak, no doubt to comment on the inevitable choice John is going to be faced with but John  ~~ _has already made up his mind_~~ isn't ready to think about that yet, let alone talk about it. "So she buzzes us up," John cuts in. "And we get there and she's gone. I see her on the floor by her desk and check on her. She was fine, minor blow to the head. I tried talking to her and she responded a little but she was basically knocked out. Sherlock walks farther and finds a security guard knocked out as well."

"Was the security guard alright?"

"Not sure."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm assuming yes, he's fine. The ambulance picked him up as well when they got there. But I didn't check him myself."

"Why not?"

"I was going to but Sherlock got to him first. I asked if he was alright but apparently he was some white supremacist ex-con so it didn't really rank that high on either of our priority lists." Greg nodded in what John could only assumed was understanding." I stayed with Janine while he looked in Magnussen's office. She had started waking up so I-"

"John." John looked up to see Janine standing there in front of them. she had a stack of newspapers in her hand. and a glimpse at the headlines showed they were all about Sherlock and nothing good. "Sorry, were ya givin' the statement or something?" She glances and Greg and smiles briefly.

"Yeah, I was. What are those?"

"Oh, just some newspapers. Thought Sherlock might like to know what people have been saying. Can he have visitors?"

"Er- yeah, he can. He's asleep though."

"That's alright, I can just leave them for him. Which room?"

"303."

"Thanks." She starts to walk away but John stops her.

"I'm really sorry about....Sherlock. He doesn't ever intentionally hurt people, you know. The thought never really crosses his mind, I don't think, even though he knows that it would only end badly."

She's quiet for a moment, just looking at him, and John finally understands when Sherlock can hear people thinking. "You spend a lot of time apologising for him, don't ya?" She grins, but there's nothing but grim resignation there as she walks out, not allowing him to answer. 

John sighs and scrubs his hands down his face before turning back to Greg. "She woke up and I helped her and I started to explain. The next time Sherlock decides to bloody propose to someone for a case I'll let him do his own bloody explaining."

"Might be best if you do it, actually. One of these days Sherlock's liable to get himself killed by saying the wrong thing instead of getting-" He cuts of abruptly. He doesn't need to finish. They both know what he was going to say anyway. 

"Sherlock was in Magnussen's office for a couple of minutes. If there was anything in there, he would have found it by then. So I go to check on him and he's..." John stops. John sees red wine from their first night at Angelo's turning into blood on Sherlock's chest. John breathes. "Magnussen's on the ground across from him. I check Sherlock's breathing and his pulse. It's shallow but it's there. Magnussen wakes up and tells me he was shot, I move his jacket I -um," John breathes again. "I see the wound. I immediately call 999. You know the rest." 

Greg looks at him for a second, then he reaches over and grabs his pad and pen. "What business did Sherlock have with Magnussen?"

"A client contacted us, said he was blackmailing her and her husband with some letters. Asked us to retrieve them for her."

"Right. So basically, Magnussen invited Sherlock to his office to discuss the return of the letters when someone broke in, knocked out is PA, his security, Magnussen himself, and shot Sherlock. Yes?"

"Exactly."

"And where were you?"

"Down in the lobby, waiting for him."

"Any witnesses to that?"

"I'm sure Mycroft will find some."

"Right then." He writes it all down and puts everything away. "When's the last you've eaten?" 

"Sherlock's been here for about a day."

Greg rubs his eyes and sighs, something John remembers doing every time he's a similar conversation with Sherlock. "So a day, then?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go down to the cafe then, yeah?" John nods and they head down. "You know...it's not wrong to love him, right?" 

John doesn't answer for a minute. Really thinking about the answer. In terms of being gay or bisexual? No, there was nothing wrong with that. But John wasn't sure he was either of those things. He'd never been attracted to men before Sherlock. Not even back in uni when a few of his mates experimented or in Afghanistan when some of his fellow soldiers tried it. He earned the name Three Continents Watson  _because_  he was never attracted to men. If he wanted to get off, he'd go into town and find a willing girl. 

Then he met Sherlock and suddenly it was  _Sherlock's_ face he saw while in the middle of sex,  _Sherlock's_  name he called out when he climaxed. He tried to fight it off, saying it was only because Sherlock made a point of trying to invade every single part of his life, of him, until there was nothing that wasn't _SherlockandJohn_. He'd let Sherlock run off every girl who'd come to the flat, interrupted every date and _every time_ he forgave Sherlock. Every time he got the text, he'd run off and leave his date without even hesitating.

He told himself that he didn't really have a choice, if he didn't go, Sherlock would probably get himself killed. He even told himself it was his job, when he finally just accepted the money they had started appearing in his account after two months of living with Sherlock. He still wasn't sure if it was Mycroft or Sherlock who was paying him but he knew that Sherlock in no way needed a flatmate to pay the rent, so it could have been either of them. He told himself everything other than the truth. That's the part of this that was wrong. That John loved Sherlock-  _needed_ Sherlock so much that he allowed Sherlock to integrate himself everywhere in and around John and didn't even put up a fight. That was wrong. John knew this. Was he sorry for it?

"It's Sherlock. What does right and wrong have to do with anything?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended this chapter to be longer but idk I really liked that last paragraph and line. Seemed like a nice place to stop. There will be more. I need to see how My John reacts to the Mary Reveal. Hope you guys liked it.


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